5 Times Sam and Gabriel Parted Ways
by Ariathel
Summary: All the times Sam and Gabriel came together and drifted apart.


**Title**: 5 Times Sam and Gabriel Parted Ways... And One Time They Didn't  
><strong>Author<strong>: ariathel**  
><strong>Rating<strong>: **PG-13**  
><strong>CharactersPairings**: **always a girl!Sam/Gabriel, Dean/Castiel mentioned in passing**  
><strong>Spoilers<strong>: **Adam, maybe?**  
><strong>Warnings<strong>: **Underage kissing, anti-organized religion themes?, paganism**  
><strong>Words<strong>: **6763**  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: **If Supernatural were mine, it would be on HBO with plenty of gratuitous nudity.**  
><strong>Summary<strong>: **All the times Sam and Gabriel came together and drifted apart.**  
><strong>AN:<strong> **My hand at a 5 Times fic... I kinda like it. Also, I'm super pissed off with ff net, because it won't "space" between sections... so now I've got to put a line between them ALL, even though I think it looks tacky and the formatting is crap.

**1.**

Sam was _always_ the new girl. The curious stares and the whispers behind her back, none of it changed. Girls would stare at her, and boys would avoid her. She learned to stop talking to them.

Dean always fit in. Easy grins, great jokes, and a can't-be-bothered attitude made him fast friends with all walks of the hallways. Girls wanted to kiss him, and boys wanted to be him.

Sam was buck toothed and too skinny. Other girls had breasts, and cute little butts. They wore short skirts and push-up bras, toeing the dress codes as much as they could get away with. Sam's jeans had holes, and her tennis shoes squeaked, even when the floor was dry. She tried not to let Dean see – he would hustle until she found a new pair of pants in her duffle bag, or tell their dad – Sam hated when John worked longer hours to give her a new pair of shoes.

Sam hated being the new girl, with a fiery passion. For the first week at a new school, she refused to talk to her dad, and sometimes Dean. She was socially awkward, to a worrisome level. Her love of sketching had given her an outlet for expression – one that few others understood. Whereas words often failed her, the sketches didn't. And so her classmates found her weird, too alien to fit in.

She toed the gap in between linoleum squares of the floor of her new classroom as the homeroom teacher introduced her to a sea of disinterested eighth graders.

The only open desk was in the middle of the room. Squeezing past kids who couldn't be bothered to move their knees, let alone kick their backpacks out of the way made her face burn. Three girls blatantly turned to stare at her, before turning and whispering to each other. The homeroom teacher sat at his desk, pointedly ignoring the entire class.

She stared down at the word "shit", barely scrubbed off the desk, and clutched her backpack. Homeroom was never long enough to pull out her notebook and work on a drawing.

"Hey!" somebody hissed, to her left. She ignored it. "Hey!"

Sam really didn't want to know. Her face burned impossibly hotter.

"Gigantor!"

"What?" she finally snapped. The teacher glanced over, watching her for trouble, before returning to his book.

Next to her sat one of the tiniest boys she'd seen outside of elementary school. He grinned, before not-so-subtly scooting his desk closer to hers.

"What's your schedule?"

She just stared. He pointedly glanced to the folded up paper, clutched in her hand, wincing as the morning announcements started.

When she didn't offer it up, he just reached over, snatching the paper and spreading it out.

"You've got Anderson, she's _awesome_. Hill is kind of an ass if she thinks you're trying to coast through, every loves Chesterton, and watch out for Black." The announcements carried over his voice, but Sam understood his words. She didn't really know how to respond.

"Thanks?" she finally mustered, glancing down at the schedule as he passed it back.

"No prob, Samantha."

She wrinkled her nose. "Sam."

He grinned wider. "If I call you Samsquatch, will you bury me alive?"

"Possibly."

"Sweet."

The bell rang, and the students around her jumped, rushing for the door. The boy scooted his own desk over, standing and waiting for Sam to do the same. She followed him out the door in a sort of daze, not sure what this guy's game was.

He ducked head swats, dodged elbows to the rib, and laughed off snarky insults as he tugged Sam along an unfamiliar hallway, before leaving her in front of a room she recognized as first period.

"We're on Block A today, which means odd classes. Here's your first class. My name's Gabriel, I'll see you in history!"

And then he was gone.

* * *

><p>They stayed in Colorado for 10 months, until the beginning of July. John had great luck finding work – or maybe he stretched their meager income further, knowing that this was the happiest Sam had ever been. Looking back, she suspected the latter.<p>

John had taken Sam and Dean skiing, that winter. Gabriel was invited. John picked skis, Dean went for the snowboard, while Gabriel persuaded Sam to choose short skis.

Sam laughed while Dean fell onto his butt, over and over. She and Gabriel zipped their way down the mountain, tackling trails Dean turned green over before the weekend was up.

* * *

><p>Sam had been told not to give her heart away to the first boy who gave her flowers or kissed her lips. She figured it was a euphemism for sex.<p>

But Gabriel didn't bring her flowers. He brought her gummy worms, and funny movies. They explored the creek together, and ran through fields, and built a tree fort in Gabriel's backyard. She kicked his ass in Mario Kart, while he beat her in Halo.

Gabriel understood what Sam couldn't say. She found it hard to pick the right words, but he would just look at her and know.

Sam didn't understand that she gave him her heart until she had to leave. It hurt, in a way she'd never felt before. Leaving Gabriel felt like tearing a piece of her soul out.

John's pain showed in his face, the day they left. Even Dean didn't tease her for acting like a baby.

Gabriel kissed her for the first time when he kissed her good-bye, fierce and short in a way that only a thirteen-year-old boy could manage.

She rode away in the back seat of the Impala that summer, almost a year after they'd arrived in Colorado, furiously sketching in her notebook through a blur of tears.

* * *

><p><strong>2.<strong>

Shortly after Sam turned fifteen, her grandparents tried to sue for custody. John had kept his children away from their grandparents, on both sides. The Campbell's claimed he was harming his children, he was isolating them, constantly moving them from town to town, school to school.

They had money, and they won. Sam wanted to hate them, but her father hugged her tight and told her not to. They thought they were doing what was right, and it was only going to be for the school year – she would one day be away at college for a lot longer.

* * *

><p>Mary Campbell had loved John Winchester, not because he was suitable – he wasn't. Her parents were incredibly wealthy. John was a mechanic.<p>

He rebelled against his own parents' strict Catholicism. She ached for the freedom he expressed – rides in his beat up truck, blasting music her father would have turned purple over. Nights spent under the stars, days in the lake, allowing her heart to set her course.

She never wanted her children to feel the sting of a nun's ruler to the back of their hands, nor the hours forced into prayer and memorization and theological learning. They would find God in the sun, in the moon, in the dirt, in a book, anywhere but a church surrounded by adults waiting, watching, judging their faults with upturned noses.

John and Mary vowed to raise their children without a set religion, instead allowing them to choose their own dogmas. Values such as love, respect, and family were instilled not by a set of religious rules, but by that of their own conscious.

Mary's parents were horrified. By the time they caught up to John and the kids – sometimes Sam wondered if her father continually ran because of them – Dean was an adult, and laughed in Samuel's face. Sam, however, was still within legal age for a custody battle.

* * *

><p>Sam spent the first year back in Kansas in an all-girls' Catholic school. Grandpa Sam and Grandma Dee weren't overbearing, but she could sense a sort of urgency to their teachings. They feared for her soul, and had less than three years to "save her" before she left for college.<p>

They didn't understand her uncommunicativeness – the way she would sometimes stare, at the end of a conversation, like she didn't know the proper way to walk away. Or the way she would shrug, when they asked about school, or her studies. The church's youth group learned not to call on her to read passages aloud.

Her classmates were more of the same. Girls rolled their knee-length uniform skirts up once or twice, as though there were boys around to take notice. Blouses were tucked just a bit tightly, showing off cleavage. Their hips swayed, their skin was tanned, and their lips glistened pink, because lip balm wasn't banned.

Sam's knees were still dirty, her wrists bony, her breasts tiny, and her waist nonexistent.

She sailed through her courses, and used the internet at the library to e-mail Dean, aching for the daily phone calls to her father.

That year, John learned he had a son, back in Colorado. A little boy, named Adam, and a pretty woman named Kate. Sam hated Dean, hated her father, hated them all for moving back to Colorado and settling down without her.

John fought bitterly for his summer visitation rights. Samuel and Deanna worriedly pressed a Bible, as well as two months' worth of daily devotionals into her pack. She was expected to come "home" with them completed.

* * *

><p>Sam pretended she wasn't excited to see Gabriel again. She wondered if he was still around, or if maybe his family had moved. It took three weeks to work up the nerves to walk to his house, weeks where she came to adore Kate, and fell in love with her baby brother.<p>

In the end, she hadn't needed to go over there.

Gabriel showed up on her doorstep, the same height as she was, a little chubby in the middle, all grins and fast talk like they hadn't parted ways two years ago.

He caught her up on the best funny movies. They swam in the lake, climbed their tree, and built bonfires from fallen branches.

Sam let Gabriel slip his hand up her shirt, but he was the one who kept it over her bra.

They learned to kiss, and to fight.

Sam showed him how to make homemade brownies, while Gabriel showed her how to clear cookies and internet history, so she wouldn't have to sneak to the library to e-mail Dean.

Gabriel frowned at her daily devotionals, helping her come up with outlandish stories to satisfy as answers.

Gabriel told her his parents were witches – they believed in magic. Not Harry Potter magic, but a quieter kind – they burned candles, and kept a garden for fresh altar flowers, and taught him to respect the earth, to love freely, and to listen.

"Do you mean… like wands and spells and stuff?" she asked one day, laying in the sun in her bathing suit. Gabriel sat next to her in his swim trunks, twirling a fallen branch between his palms.

"Kinda," he said with a shrug. "I don't know. We just… Mom prays to the moon. Dad prays to the sun. Their altars change with the seasons, or the holidays. Sometimes Mom decorates hers for a goddess."

Sam watched him, curiously.

"Do you have an altar?"

"Yes."

"Can I see it?"

Gabriel watched her for a second, uncharacteristically serious, before smiling. "Sure."

She followed him home, an oversize t-shirt and sandals thrown on as they trekked the blocks back to his house. She watched, fascinated, as he pointed out the things on it. Nothing more than a few candles, a couple of filled bowls, and some cool rocks and leaves he collected.

"What do you think, Samantha?" Gabriel's mother asked, her eyes crinkling with a smile.

"It's cool. Grandpa Sam and Grandma Dee would be upset if I did this, though."

Margie merely nodded. "Well, if you would like to learn some of this, ask your dad. If he says yes, I'd be happy to teach you."

John allowed Gabriel's parents to teach her what they knew, after talking with them one night.

Sam spent her days at Gabriel's, in between getting to know Kate, playing with Adam, and playing video games with Dean. His mom never talked badly about her Bible, or her devotionals, and never tried to persuade her to believe anything more than what she wanted to. Sam recognized the friendliness she'd first seen in Gabriel, back in middle school, when he'd grabbed her schedule from her hand and dragged her through the hallways.

Sam's artwork took on a new direction, and Margie asked her for a particularly blue painting that looked like a woman made of water dancing on a lake. She placed it on her own altar, and Sam vowed to keep the image in her memory, forever. It was the first time somebody had wanted her artwork for themselves, and not just because it was hers (John kept _boxes_ of the works Sam did. Doodles, to paintings, to photographs, he held on to everything), but because they thought it was good.

At the end of the summer, she went back to Kansas with a journal. Gabriel's parents knew she couldn't openly express her developing beliefs, but they told her to just listen, and write down what she learned. Sometimes she felt bad, like she was deceiving her grandparents, but she assuaged her guilt by telling herself that she didn't _choose_ to have to stay with them.

Her weekly e-mails now included Gabriel.

* * *

><p><strong>3.<strong>

Sam was given a partial-ride scholarship to a private art school in Colorado. Her grandparents were willing to pay the rest of the way, though she told them she would most likely never call herself a Catholic. They gave her tight hugs, and were grateful for the years they got.

John and Kate were _ecstatic_ to have her so close to home. Dean, and his boyfriend Cas, came to visit her at least once a month (and sometimes Dean slipped a few beers into her fridge).

Gabriel attended Colorado State, for English. He loved writing funny stories. The two did a semester abroad their junior year, both in Italy.

Gabriel expanded his love of sweets to epic proportions (Sam teased him and made him work out with her every day), while she spent her free time painting. It had become her favorite method, though she still occasionally enjoyed sketching and chalk.

The first time Gabriel took her out to dinner, she came back with him to his room that night, and they fell into the sheets in a tangle of skin and kisses.

The next morning, she woke up, her legs wrapped tightly around him, his prickly stubble nudging along her arm.

"Gabriel," she hissed, poking at him with her free arm. "Get up."

"Wha," he mumbled, burrowing himself further.

"My arm is numb!"

He blinked up at her, grinning before shifting his head. "Shouldn't have let me sleep on it then!"

She swatted his shoulder, before extricating herself to make coffee. She pretended she couldn't feel his eyes on her butt as she walked, naked, into the kitchen.

"You know, I could get used to this," came his wolfish voice from the doorway. She turned to find him in boxers. She shrugged, unconcerned by her own nakedness.

"What, a naked woman in your bed?"

She could _feel_ his eye roll. "No, _you_ naked, in my home."

Sam shrugged her shoulders, before tapping the coffee pot, deeply inhaling the smell of brewing coffee. She was becoming spoiled, by true Italian roast. It put most of her purchases from home to shame.

"You just like me because I got taller," she finally said with a grin. He wagged his eyebrows, before coming to stand before her. His head came up to her neck.

"Your boobs are at eye level. It's _amazing_!" The coffee pot dinged, and he placed a kiss to her left breast. "Go put some clothes on; I'll make yours."

She tugged on a pair of underwear and one of his shirts, heading back into the kitchen. He offered up her drink with a snap. She had learned to love her tiny breasts and bony shoulders. She could pull off strapless dresses that looked nothing but indecent on bustier women.

They explored the city more, hunting down a café one of the other students had told Sam about. Gabriel regaled her with stories from school, from his classes, delivering the punch line just as she was taking a drink, smirking when she choked from laughter. Sam glared.

The semester was spent in each other's beds, much to the chagrin of Sam's roommate. Gabriel showed Sam the book he was writing, while she sketched his favorite places in town.

Gabriel sent them home to his mother, who wrote back with a picture of them framed. Sam felt a stir of pride to see the woman on the water, framed and hung near the altar.

At the end of the semester, Sam felt her heart clench as they said good-bye. Their schools weren't more than four hours away, but it was enough. They hadn't made promises, nor declarations of love, but she still felt like she would lose him.

Sam boarded her plane first, and spent the first half of her flight stifling tears.

* * *

><p><strong>4.<br>**

Undergrad ended, and graduate school began. For Sam, it was in education. She wanted to teach art, to children. She and Gabriel attended the same school – he worked towards his MFA at the same time.

They slipped into a relationship as easily as breathing. John helped haul furniture into their apartment, Kate made sure she had enough cookware, and Margie helped her set up her first altar. She shyly picked out things that meant a lot to her – a set of bowls she and Kate had made in a class one summer, candles from Gabriel's mother's stash, flowers from her garden, and a branch from her and Gabriel's tree.

Sam made breakfast most mornings, while Gabriel gladly cooked dinner – and dessert.

The years working towards their masters flew by, and Sam fell more in love with Gabriel every day. He gave her a necklace, the only piece of jewelry she wore, silver with a beautiful green stone. It never tarnished, never turned her skin green, and she wouldn't take it off for the world.

Graduation brought job applications for both. Sam found a job at the elementary school in the same town their families lived in – Gabriel's only job offer took him to Virginia.

"What are we going to do?" Sam asked as they stared down the reality of being separated.

"I don't know, Samsquatch," he replied. He was the only one who could get away with calling her that. Sam clutched him tight, in their bed, refusing to cry. '_I won't cry, I won't cry, I won't cry,'_ ran through her mind.

"I don't want to break up."

"Me either."

"Do you think we can do this long distance?"

Gabriel's silence was deafening. Her heart pounded in her ears, and the tears finally spilled over.

"I don't know if I'll be able to afford plane tickets, not for a while," he finally murmured.

Her small teacher's salary definitely wouldn't afford expensive flights. One day, she would make a living by selling her artwork – until then, though, she was at the mercy of a biweekly paycheck.

"I love you," she murmured, a weak defense from the looming possibility.

"I love you too."

They spent their last month in the apartment in each other's arms, with each other's families, and generally refusing to say good-bye.

She cursed the bad economy. Margie, who worked at the same school, promised him she would take good care of Sam. John gave him the information for a friend in Virginia, a woman named Ellen who would help him find a place to live.

They parted ways, tears in her eyes, and a somber set to his mouth.

Sam moved back to their hometown, and tried not to plan for two when she set up her new apartment.

* * *

><p><strong>5.<strong>

Daily phone calls and e-mails turned into weekly conversations, before slipping into monthly catch-ups. Sam made friends with several of the teachers, and her work had begun being featured in local shops. Gabriel hated his job, moderately enjoyed his friends, and was afraid corporate world was crushing his soul.

They found difficulty relating, over the distance. Stories were difficult when the other didn't understand the people and the situations behind them.

The first time Sam dated someone else, she felt an intense disquiet settle in her gut. Balthazar was adorable, charming, and had the cutest accent.

He wasn't as funny as Gabriel, he was taller than Gabriel, he didn't have Gabriel's little stomach (Sam had teased him about it, but she loved every inch of his body) – she found herself comparing him to Gabriel in every way.

When she told Gabriel, an awkward silence followed. They both knew it was coming, but neither was fully prepared.

"Will you see him again?" Gabriel finally asked, and it hurt to hear the strain in his voice. Sam missed his jokes, and his laughter. The stupid little pranks he played on Dean, the way he insisted on calling Castiel "bro" (since both of their names were also the names of biblical angels), and the way he sucked up to Kate for more of her homemade ice cream were memories Sam was loathe to let go of.

"I don't know," she answered honestly. She wanted to say, '_He isn't you_,' or, '_I don't know how to love anyone else_,' but she didn't, because it was cruel. Gabriel would wait for her, if she asked. She would pick up and move, if he did. They both knew it, but neither could take the liberty of asking.

The conversation ended awkwardly, and Sam felt immense guilt at the relief that it was over.

She dated Balthazar three more times, before he called it quits.

Gabriel dated a woman named Kali. Sam felt the sharp sting of jealousy, and tried whole-heartedly to congratulate him. She secretly looked Kali up on Facebook. The woman was African, tall, astonishingly gorgeous, and had curves in all the places Sam had given up wishing for. She hated her.

"You know," Margie began as she brewed a pot of tea in Sam's apartment, "I don't understand why you two are doing this to each other."

Sam laughed. Gabriel's mother was blunt, she would give her that.

"I love Gabriel – more than I've ever loved anybody who isn't Dean or Dad. There's nothing for him here, though. I can't ask him to give up a job that could get him everything he wants, just for me."

Gabriel's mom just hummed, watching Sam over her mug.

Sam asked a few questions about setting up a second altar, dedicated to Brigid. The woman's eyes lit up. "She and I had a connection, years ago." Sam eagerly listened to her talk.

* * *

><p>By the time thirty rolled around, Sam and Gabriel's conversations had all but stopped. Dean introduced her to Ruby, who introduced her to Michael, who stuck around.<p>

Before she knew it, they were celebrating two years, and the opening of Sam's first exhibition. She wore Gabriel's necklace, and Michael's ring. The night passed in a flurry of congratulations, and sales that sometimes stole her breath away with the reality that this, here, these were people – desiring _her_ works.

Her dad and Kate showed, dragging a mulish teenage Adam. They made her promise to swing by, later, for the after-party party. Margie came, offering a hug and a small smile.

It was when Dean and Cas left, and Michael slipped an arm around her waist, that she came face-to-face with Gabriel for the first time since the end of grad school. She felt her heart stutter, skipping a few important beats, and her back stiffened.

She was ashamed of the way Michael's arm felt heavy around her waist. Gabriel offered a genuine smile, his eyes not lingering on the ring on her hand, nor the possessive grip Michael kept. He stopped, gaze skipping back to the necklace that rested on her neck.

"I had to come, Samsquatch," he offered up. Turning, he cordially shook Michael's hand, introducing himself. Sam gave him a hug, squeezing him tightly before backing up, unwilling to let herself hold too long.

"Did my mom grab the woman in fire?" he asked, devilish grin. Sam smiled back, a small weight lifted as the awkward hellos were over.

"Of course. She said she'll put it where the woman in water used to be." She didn't mention the altar – that wasn't public business. Michael didn't know about hers, even two years later, and into their engagement. She had never considered it something to be shared, with anybody.

'_You share it with Gabriel_,' a nasty voice chided her. She silenced it, before Michael planted a kiss on her cheek, and left her to show Gabriel around.

The two joked together like old times. Sam laughed easily, forgetting the awkwardness of her heels, or the prying eyes around the room. He made comments about her work – sometimes inappropriate jokes, always in hushed tones, sometimes wordless awe.

They parted ways with a hug, though he promised to see her at the after-party party.

As the evening wound down, Sam longed to kick off her heels. She couldn't help but notice the set to Michael's mouth, and prayed he wouldn't pick a fight over Gabriel. It wasn't that she hid her ex, she just felt it wasn't worth sharing. '_No_,' she corrected herself. Her years with Gabriel were hers, and hers alone, and confessing them to Michael felt like a betrayal of her first love, as though she were asking for forgiveness or absolution, or worse – permission to forget.

* * *

><p>The party, at home, was quite a bit louder. Dean overindulged in the beers, Cas tried (and failed) to keep him from making a fool of himself. Gabriel pranked Dean, John tried to learn Gabriel's father's margarita recipe (the secret was whole milk, and the party destroyed enough of them to clear out a supermarket). Margie and Kate laughed as Adam darted through the crowd, happy to be allowed a few beers in celebration.<p>

Michael mingled, distant and reserved. Nobody noticed but Sam.

She wondered if Michael had ever fit in with her family.

She wondered if she had ever given him the chance to.

That night, her assistant e-mailed her the detailed results of the evening – she felt tears sting the corners of her eyes as she read, "Gabriel Milton – Snow Angels". It was her favorite piece, and reminded her of the first winter in Colorado.

"Gabriel, that was your ex, right?" Michael asked, as they undressed. Sam set down her earrings, massaging the sore lobes. She hated jewelry.

Michael's eyes drifted to her neck. She frowned in the mirror, before holding up her hand, flashing the engagement ring.

"It's not his ring I'm wearing," she said, unable to keep the edge from her voice.

"Would you? Wear his ring, I mean. If he walked in here, right now, and proposed to you, what would you say?"

Sam whirled.

"I would never have to, Michael. Gabriel wouldn't walk in here and propose to me, because he knows I'm in love with _you_. Just because he was my first doesn't make him my only. This jealousy shit is going to piss me off."

Michael slammed his cufflinks onto the dresser.

Sam prayed he wouldn't notice her avoidance.

"Well, what am I supposed to think? Every time I asked about him, you just shut me down. Were you ever going to tell me anything real about him? How come _my_ family wasn't there at this celebration party?"

"Because your mother thinks I'm a tramp for living with you, and your father thinks my father is a dirty hippie!"

"Oh, yeah, like you know my parents so well," he shouted. "Half the time you refuse to come interact with them! What are they supposed to think? Their future daughter-in-law wants nothing to do with them!"

Sam balled her hands into fists. "The first time I met your parents, they spent their first five minutes shit-talking teachers and all public workers. They said art was for deadbeats. They _knew_ I'm an artist _and_ a teacher, and they didn't care!"

Michael rolled his eyes. "I didn't know you let stupid shit get to you like that, Sam. And what's with Gabriel calling you Samsquatch? He's a dumpy little guy."

Sam had once told Michael he wasn't allowed to call her that. Gabriel was the only one who was allowed the nickname.

"Don't insult him just because you're jealous," Sam growled, standing. She shimmied out of her dress, before yanking on her nightclothes. "You're attacking me for no reason. This night was supposed to be about me. I had my family there – including Gabriel's family, because they make me happy. Gabriel's mom was the first person to value my paintings, and she has never stopped supporting me." She grabbed her pillow, before storming to the doorway. "Until you can act like a damn adult, leave me the hell alone."

* * *

><p>The following two days were tense. Michael attempted a half-hearted apology, but Sam wasn't in the mood for it.<p>

When his parents showed up, watching her through their cold gaze, she felt a trickle of unease down her back. "Samantha!" Michael's mother greeted her, limply shaking her hand.

"We just had to congratulate you on your success," his father said, though she felt the insincerity dripping off each word.

They gingerly sat on the well-worn sofa. Sam refused to feel any shame; living frugally was not a bad thing. Michael appeared a moment later, happily greeting his parents, planting a kiss to her cheek in a great show of normalcy.

When his mother asked to use the restroom, Sam pretended not to notice the way she veered out of the hallway one door too early. Her heart clenched as the woman called for Michael, who frowned and went to her – in their bedroom.

Minutes of tense silence later, Michael's voice raised. "Mother, that is _inappropriate_. These are Sam's belongings, and you will respect her privacy!"

"Michael, this is witchcraft stuff!"

Sam's heart sank, and she jumped up. Sure enough, Grace had her leathery hands all over the altar. Even Michael knew not to touch it. Sam gently pried them away, before smoothing her things back out. The energy felt all wrong, and she bit her lip to keep the violated feeling away.

"Michael, your fiancé thinks she's some kind of witch!"

Michael met Sam's eyes, before stopping his mother from pointing accusingly at Sam.

"Whatever it is, mom, this is Sam's business. I think you've crossed a line here. You and dad need to go."

Grace turned and poked her bony finger into Sam's chest. "You are a _no-good_ piece of trash. Your daddy was a drifter," Michael cut her off with words Sam didn't hear, before guiding her out of the room, talking loudly over her protests.

Minutes later, he came back into the room, and sank onto the bed.

"I'm sorry-" they both began, then stopped.

"Did she mess it up?"

Sam rolled her shoulders, before giving a tiny shake of her head. "Nothing I can't fix."

"What did she do?" he asked, and for once, Sam didn't brush him off.

"It's my altar, to Brigid. Energy… it transfers. She was angry when she touched the pieces – it all feels… tainted, I guess. Not like she ruined it, but… you have to understand, when I come to the altar, I come with love, or hope, or happiness. Anger like this, it will have a lasting effect."

Michael's eyebrows raised, before he let his breath out in a whistle. "I'm sorry she touched them. I wish you'd told me."

"Would it have changed anything?"

"I guess not."

She took her hand away from the altar, before sinking into the desk chair, meeting his gaze.

"I don't know why I never told you," she began, before cutting herself off, and twisting her fingers together. "I take it back. This, Gabriel, it's all wrapped up in a part of my life I don't think I know how to share."

Michael waited for her to continue. For the first time, Sam let herself open, let him see what she held so dearly to her heart. "You know my life was – unstable. Moving here, seventeen years ago, was the first time I really felt happy. Gabriel didn't care that I was the ugly girl, he still wanted to be my friend. Margie let me ask her all kinds of questions, about altars and gods and spells and magic – she never once judged me, or told me she was right. My grandparents tried to make me Catholic – it didn't work," she mused, a wry smile on her lips, covering the aching in her heart. "They don't like to talk about my heathen ways."

They fell into silence. Michael gave her a small smile, before shifting. "This is the most you've talked to me, ever," he mused.

Sam drew in a slow breath, hating the wet rattle in her throat. It felt like the confession she always thought it would – and maybe it always was. This was her goodbye. Here I am; this is me.

"We won't work out, won't we?" Michael said quietly. Sam's gaze snapped to his, wide-eyed. "I can _hear_ your goodbye voice."

Sam opened and closed her mouth. "I never had anything that was mine. I mean, my dad tried. So did Dean. But this… these are the pieces I don't know how to share. I don't know how to share my history with Gabriel, or why I have an altar. I should've tried harder to make your parents like me-"

Michael cut her off. "I can see why. Your family accepts you, and loves you no matter what. All this stuff, they just know it."

They knew the spaces in between Sam's words, the sounds she often times didn't know how to speak, because she didn't get much of an opportunity to share. Growing up, nobody outside of Dad and Dean cared. Then came Gabriel, but he learned it all the same time she did – she ever had to explain. Her friends at work knew, because they knew her, and they knew Margie, and they knew Gabriel.

"I love you, Sam. I just don't know if you love me."

"I do!" she cried, clutching her hand to her heart. Michael gave her a sad smile, bordering on bitter, before shaking his head.

"No, you don't." He stood. "I'm going to go stay with Raphael tonight."

Sam jumped up, but he shouldered past, and she could feel her heart break. She waited for him to leave, before jumping into her own car, pajamas and all, and driving to her father's house.

* * *

><p>She woke on the guest bed, to the smell of pancakes and coffee. Adam's bright eyes and sandy hair blinked back at her from the doorframe.<p>

"Where did you come from?"

"Outer space," she murmured.

"Adam, leave Sam alone, come on," Kate called.

The teenager blinked, before yawned and shrugged. "If you sleep in, I'm eating your pancakes."

Sam got up, a few minutes later, caring more about coffee than breakfast.

Or maybe they were the same. She didn't really care.

Kate didn't bother to ask questions until Adam left for the bus. John looked between the two of them. "Do I have to break out my shotgun? Bobby got me a new one."

Sam smiled the best she could. "No, Dad, no shotgun today."

"Tomorrow?"

She grinned.

"Not tomorrow, either. Maybe next week, though, okay?"

John kissed her forehead. "Don't forget to swing by Dean's. Cas wants your opinion on where he's putting the painting."

It was when Sam was finally alone with Kate, that she let herself sag.

"Did you and Michael break up?"

Sam nodded.

"I guess I'm a shitty girlfriend?" It was more question than anything. Kate glared.

"Don't say that, Sam. You tried, with Michael. We could all see how much you gave it, but-"

"But I don't share," Sam finished. She glanced down to the ring, and slowly slid it off. "I couldn't share Gabriel, or my religion, or my past. I couldn't share my family, because I don't know how."

Kate smiled. "That's okay, Sam. One day, you'll find someone you _can_ share those things with."

They both left out that she already had.

* * *

><p><strong>0.<strong>

Sam knew Gabriel was moving back home. At thirty-one, he had finally published his first book. He was offered a position at the local paper, writing small pieces – fiction, mostly, for humor, or random interest.

Sam didn't allow herself to be excited. She hadn't spoken to Gabriel since her opening. And so she waited. She knew he was in town, it was difficult not to.

A month passed, before Sam worked up the courage to go find him.

He flung open the door, a smile firmly in place, inviting her in.

She twisted her hands nervously, waiting while he grabbed her a diet Coke and flung himself into the couch. She sat stiffly next to him.

"I just… before I lose my nerve, I just want to say I'm not – I'm not expecting anything," she mumbled. When the hell did she lose her ability to talk to Gabriel?

Right around the time she realized she might not ever love anyone else, most likely. Now, the knowledge that he might not understand her, anymore, or that he might not want her –

Gabriel grabbed her hand, stopping the twisting and popping of her knuckles.

"Sammy," he began, waiting until she met his eyes. "We're friends. We've always been friends."

She furiously hoped he wasn't about to come up with the "but".

"If that's all, that's okay." He grinned, waggling his eyebrows. "Want to play some Halo?"

They lost hours in the game, shouting curses and crowing their triumphs, until the neighbor pounded on the wall, and they realized the clock read two AM.

Sam sheepishly made her way back home, her step lighter than it had been in a while.

* * *

><p>They progressed slowly. Games of Halo turned into takeout nights, then movie and dinner nights.<p>

Sam showed him her latest pieces, and Gabriel hung up the framed painting he had bought.

Before they went further, Sam wanted to tell him about Michael. She hadn't brought it up, not yet, but there wasn't any fear when they sat down, plates of Chinese on their laps.

"I don't think I was capable of loving Michael," she murmured between bites. Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "I tried. I just – there's too much of me I don't know how to talk about. He would ask questions – about you, or about your mom – or about my mom, or Kate, or Dean and Cas, and I would just… avoid the question. His mom came and put her hands all over my altar. That was kind of the end."

Gabriel shook his head. "She should've known better."

"How could she? I never even told him what it was!"

"He never touched it, though, right? I can't imagine you'd date someone that much of an ass."

She met his gaze. "Did you ever think I would stay with him?" She didn't even have it in her to go red at the brazenness of the question.

Gabriel shrugged. "No."

"Why?"

"Because I'll bet Michael didn't like gummy worms, but you do. And I'll bet he never knew anything about Doctor Who, or the X-Files." Gabriel set down his plate. "I love you, Sam. I love that ugly T.A.R.D.I.S. sweatshirt that I know is still in your closet, and the way you buy dog toys for my mom's cat, and the way you can still kick my ass in Halo, and the fact that you'll cuss like a sailor doing it." He leaned closer. "You never had to tell me any of those things. The same way you don't have to tell me about Michael, because I know you."

Sam went cross-eyed, before sticking out her tongue. "You just knew I would always be in love with you."

Gabriel shrugged, before tugging on her ponytail, spilling her brown hair across her shoulders.

"Maybe."

Their lips met, and Sam _knew_ that Gabriel was right. He knew her, better than she knew herself. All the pieces she didn't know how to explain, because words never worked right, he just understood them.

"Stop thinking so much."

She laughed, and tugged him down to her.


End file.
